


golden slumbers fill your eyes

by soldouthaz



Series: drabbles [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Bottom Louis, Established Relationship, Fluff, Insomnia, M/M, Meet-Cute, No Smut, One Shot, Top Harry, hints of - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldouthaz/pseuds/soldouthaz
Summary: “I just want to sleep,” he croaks, hands twisted in the front of Louis’ shirt, “S’all I want, Lou, I just want to be able to sleep.”“I know,” he says, stroking Harry’s hair and shushing him.And he’s still worn out, mind heavy from the turmoil of his failure, but Louis never fails to make him feel better. He rests his forehead against his and exhales, finally letting his eyes fall shut.harry has insomnia and louis helps him through the ups and downs.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: drabbles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670983
Comments: 16
Kudos: 290





	golden slumbers fill your eyes

Harry’s exhausted. 

He can feel it in every part of his body, from the worn out soles of his tennis shoes to the hunch of his shoulders when he walks, the way his legs just seem to drag lethargically underneath him no matter how much energy he puts into his stride. 

Physically, mentally, emotionally - just  _ tired _ . 

From the way people are staring, he bets he looks it, too. He’s all too familiar with the dark circles that frame his eyes and the perpetually downward curve of his mouth. Showing up to work isn’t very exciting, but at least his coworkers are somewhat affable with the customers enough to make up for his sour attitude. 

That’s something that should probably encourage him to work a bit harder, but he feels tethered down to the seat behind the front counter, chin in his hand and blowing out hollow breaths through his nose. 

“Harry,” his coworker sighs, “just go take a nap. I’ll cover for you.” 

She’s very nice, but she just doesn’t understand. 

Harry would go take a nap if he could, he just  _ can’t _ . And her offer only reminds him that he can’t, and now he’s irritated as well as exhausted. He’s probably going to get fired soon. 

With a minute shake of his head, he ignores her and continues staring into a spot on the floor, where the tile is chipped on one side. It’s been there since he’d started working here, and it drives him absolutely insane. He wonders why no one fixes it - it’s right in the middle of the floor, where all of their customers walk. 

Harry also wonders why he’s thinking so hard about it. He’s so tired. 

She doesn’t offer again, just goes back to sweeping behind the counter even though it isn’t dirty, and pretending Harry isn’t there. To be fair, he kind of isn’t. 

All of his limbs are heavy when he moves to stretch, lifting his arms above his head to prevent the awkward angle of his neck and back from causing any problems later. Knuckling at his eye, Harry glances down at his phone. 

Ten minutes until they close. He can make it. Probably. 

Time seems to drag by slowly, between flutters of his eyelids and quiet sighs. 

Over the last few years he’s tried everything. His doctors aren’t even completely sure where it came from, some subconscious childhood nightmare hidden in the depths of his mind or something. 

Still, he’s taken sleep medication, done yoga and meditation and changed his diet, and completely moved around his schedule so he would no longer be stressed. He just can’t sleep for longer than an hour no matter how hard he tries, usually no more than twenty minutes at a time and only because he physically cannot keep his eyes open any longer. 

Thinking about not having a cure only makes him frustrated, though, so Harry tries to think positively, of sheep jumping over fences and a serene waterfall and garden and daydreams about the sleep he’s sure he won’t get after his shift is over. 

+

The clock reads four seventeen AM when Harry glances over at it from where he’s laying in bed. He’s on his back, hands clasped together and resting on his stomach, staring up at the ceiling. 

At first, he’d thought maybe he could trick himself by not sleeping in his bed. He’d try to drift off on the couch or a cozy pallette on the floor of his living room, but that hadn’t been successful either. His mum says it’s because he’s too smart his body can’t be fooled, but if that’s true then Harry thinks he’d rather be absolutely daft. 

At least that way he’d be a well-rested, energetic daft person. Not this lazy, slow-moving thing he’s become over the last couple of years. 

It’d been a slow decline since then, a year of fighting it and then a year of trying to cope with it. Now, he’s just trying to keep his eyes open during the day and not walk headfirst into tables and other people at work. 

Despite the light hours being difficult, the nights are probably what Harry hates the most. When he’s at work and the sun is out, there is movement and sound. There are people talking and being productive and distracting him from his tiredness. Sometimes they talk to him and he pretends for a while that they aren’t just staring at the deep rings underneath his eyes and that they’re actually interested in what he has to say - even if it takes him ages to get it out. 

Nighttime is worse in so many ways, but mainly because it’s quiet. Quiet to Harry has always meant lonely, but music only keeps his mind whirring and he can’t relax with it playing in the background. And, for now, he’s promised himself he wouldn’t resort to talking to himself for entertainment. 

So he lays there and watches the fan go around and around and thinks about everything and nothing.  _ Mental block _ , the sleep therapist had called it. Harry’s got some sort of mental block keeping him from resting properly. 

He’d paid good money for her advice, for all of the other advice he’d gotten too, but she hadn’t told him what the block actually  _ was _ . 

The next time he looks over at the clock, it’s seven-thirty and his curtains are beginning to lighten from the sun rising outside. 

Sighing, Harry swings his legs out from under the covers he’d gotten specially weighted to make him sleep, and slides his feet into his slippers. If he’s going to be awake, he figures, he might as well do something productive. 

Harry has the entire flat cleaned by the next hour, eyes drooping and stifling a frustrated yawn into his palm. 

+

Harry meets Louis on a Thursday. 

He comes in fairly early in what he probably slept in the night before, squinting up at the menu from the back of the line. As quickly as he can, Harry finishes sweeping behind the counter and trades places with his coworker at the order station when he’s two spots away. 

Luckily, he seems too caught up in trying to read the latest special that he doesn’t notice the switch, but his coworker does. She eyes him suspiciously but, as usual, says nothing and resumes where he left off with the broom. If Harry didn’t feel like his entire body was weighted down to the floor, he may have hugged her. 

Instead, he takes the woman’s order and then the man behind her before he gets to see the pretty stranger face-to-face. 

He isn’t sure what did it for him because he’s typically too exhausted to notice high cheekbones and small, dainty hands that rest on the counter in front of him, or to lift his chin up enough to see the bright blue of his eyes in the sea of grey behind him. 

It’s probably because he looks tired, Harry thinks amusedly. Perhaps he’s familiar with the struggle. 

“What can I get for you today?” 

Startled, the man looks down at him from where he’d still been gazing up at the menu and rubs a hand down one side of his face before speaking. 

“Sorry, uhm,” he shakes his head, “what do you serve here that has the most caffeine in it?” 

Chuckling slightly, Harry thinks. 

“Probably our cold brew,” he points to it on the menu. 

“I’ll take two, please,” he tells Harry. 

Then, as he’s ringing him up, he adds, “And a muffin.” 

Laughing again, Harry tells him the total and mentally deducts the muffin from his own paycheck - it’ll be on the house. 

“Name?” 

“Louis,” he says. 

Harry repeats the name inside of his head for a few minutes as he takes the other orders and goes to make Louis’ drinks, tasting the syllables even though he hasn’t said it aloud yet. It’s funny, really, because he feels like he’s just taken a sip of the coffee in front of him. 

For a second, energy zips through his veins just enough to feel somewhat  _ awake _ for once. Like everything isn’t just some insanely vivid fever dream. Harry thinks he should work the counter more often. 

He calls out the other names on the list but saves Louis’ even though he looks like he needs it the quickest, and then brings them to the table he’s sitting at personally. 

If he’s affronted, he’s too tired to show it when Harry walks up to him. 

“Thank you,” he sighs, a dopey smile on his face. 

And this is where Harry should turn around, go back to the counter and serve the new line of customers that’s formed in his absence. He should. 

“Long night?” 

He doesn’t. 

“Yeah,” Louis nods, “up all night studying for an exam.” 

_ Interesting _ . 

“You’re in uni?” 

Louis takes his time answering, swallows down half of one of the cold brews in quick succession before taking a bite of the muffin and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to rid it of the crumbs. 

Harry’s eyes trace his arm as he does, the smooth movement of his body as he eats and talks and breathes. At this point, he’s convinced maybe he  _ is _ daydreaming and Louis is just a figment of his imagination. He looks very much like something Harry’s mind would come up with. 

“Yeah, at Kings.” Louis gestures vaguely behind them as he takes another bite, “Music major.” 

Nodding, Harry stands there awkwardly while he finishes the entire muffin. And, it’s like, he knows that’s a creepy thing to do and he should walk away, but he just  _ can’t _ . 

“Me too.” 

This alone is giving him some sort of adrenaline rush that makes him a bit woozy, but he’s blinking and moving and talking and  _ existing _ and he doesn’t feel like a walking zombie. 

His coworker has already taken over the counter again anyway, he can hear her taking orders, so there’s really no rush. Louis doesn’t seem to be bothered. 

“You look like you could use this one, mate,” he laughs, offering his second coffee to Harry before he takes the first sip. 

_ Tried that, too _ , Harry thinks. 

Waving Louis off, he shakes his head, “I had one already,” he lies, “would you like one to-go, though?” 

Louis looks sheepish when he glances up at him from behind the rim of his glass. 

“Would you judge me if I said yes?” 

Harry stammers out a quick,  _ no, of course not _ , and gets straight to it. He’s made the drink hundreds of times before but he prepares it extra carefully anyway, adding some whipped cream and chocolate over the top before he puts the lid on. 

On the way back out, he sees the sharpie next to the till and grabs it while it’s not being used, writing  _ good luck on your exam! _ On the top with a smiley face. 

When he brings it to Louis he’s already finished the other drink and accepts the to-go cup eagerly from his hands. He smiles at the note as Harry bites his lip. To be honest, at this point, he isn’t even embarrassed. 

“Thank you,” he says again, “I definitely need it.” 

He’s not sure if Louis’ talking about the coffee or the note on top but he nods anyway. Louis stands up from the booth and adjusts his jacket, tossing his trash in the bin behind them. 

“I don’t think I caught your name,” he prompts. 

Harry smiles. 

“Harry.” 

“Well,” Louis pauses with a hand on the door, “I’ll see you around then, Harry.” 

The door swings shut behind him and Harry’s left staring at the last place Louis’ foot touched on the floor, feeling like he’s just been struck by a bolt of lightning or plugged into a wall socket. He feels so good, in fact, that he doesn’t hear his coworker calling for help with the morning rush until she hits him in the back of the head with a bagel. 

\+ 

After that, Harry gets confused. In the past, hanging out with friends is something he’d tried to do. He had a lot of them a while ago, until all of them realized that he was no fun when he was tired - which was all the time. 

Being around people made him feel drained, like he couldn’t keep up. The last time he’d hung out with them they’d all gone to a bar and gotten him proper drunk in an effort to loosen him up. 

To be fair, he had gotten sleep, but in the form of passing out in the middle of the floor and having to be dragged into the cab home, and waking up in a pool of his own vomit, half-dressed and alone. Harry doesn’t drink much anymore. 

He feels like he’s got every right to be confused, then, when he thinks about Louis. He doesn’t even know him and he still gives him such a reaction, one he hasn’t had in years. Even his attraction comes second at this point, when he thinks about how he can feel that awake again. 

The thought gets pushed away as soon as it comes up, because even if he wanted to, he has no way to guarantee seeing him again. He goes to uni here but hasn’t been to one of Harry’s shifts in all of the two years he’s worked at the shop. All in all, there’s probably a very low chance that he’ll be back. 

Melancholy or not, Harry smiles when he wakes up from his forty-five minute nap on the couch later that night, face smushed into the pillow with blanket lines imprinted into his arms. 

\+ 

In the weeks that follow, Louis does come back. He comes back almost three times a week, in fact. Harry’s never felt more alive. 

Louis wakes up early enough to arrive before the crowds, giving Harry time to sit down and talk to him for a bit before he has to go back to work. Even his coworker smirks at him when she takes over the till. 

Since then, he’s learned quite a bit about him. Louis studies music and he studies  _ hard _ , makes perfect marks and is on the Dean’s list. He wears glasses that accentuate his button nose but only on days when his vision’s gone blurry from too much reading or writing, and he blushes at everything Harry says. 

Even if he doesn’t mean it flirty, Louis still goes red and gets flustered, eyeing his cup or muffin on the table instead of Harry and clearing his throat. 

It’s been a while since he’s dated anyone, but Harry’s pretty sure that means that Louis likes him, at least a little. Enough to give Harry that spark of energy every time he laughs, smiles, talks, eats, anything. Like he’s being recharged. 

And more than that, Harry’s gotten more sleep over the past few weeks than he has the whole last year. 

It only takes him another two weeks to gain the confidence to ask Louis out on a date, and another after that to kiss him for the first time. 

Everything goes perfectly, too good, almost, for a while. They hang out at Louis’ flat when he’s not busy studying and at Harry’s when he needs to get away, and some of his clothes are in Harry’s closet now, hung up in favor of wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts instead of his own. 

His past relationships were never like this. The closeness they’ve got would’ve taken years to achieve with the others, he’s sure. With Louis, he’s comfortable. They fit, sometimes in ways that make Harry stop to think about how bizarre they are. 

After a month together, Harry asks him to be his boyfriend. 

With Louis’  _ Yes! _ Rolling around inside of his head, Harry’s naps increase from forty-five minutes to a few hours and he tries not to think too hard about what that means. 

+

Louis realizes something is wrong when they start spending the night together. 

He’d been studying all night but he’d wanted Harry’s company, as well as takeout. Dutifully, Harry had picked it up and sat next to him on the floor, reading him flash cards and asking him questions while they ate. 

When he checks the time and says he should probably go, Louis clings onto him like a koala bear and refuses to let go, claims his bed is perfectly comfortable. 

And Harry knows he doesn’t mean anything more than innocent because Louis’ eyes are nearly shut and he’s yawning into Harry’s neck, rubbing a fist over his eye sleepily. But, in some ways, just sleeping is even more nerve wracking than if he  _ had _ been insinuating. 

But this is Louis, he tells himself, so he picks him up from the floor and carries him to bed, borrows a toothbrush, sheds his clothes and slips under the sheets. 

Louis already seems asleep when he gets there but he still curls into Harry’s body when the bed dips. It’s sweet, and it makes Harry forget for a moment what he’d been so nervous about. 

Like a compulsion, Harry glances around the room to find a clock. When there isn’t one, he sighs and tries to get comfortable in the foreign bed, closing his eyes tightly. 

It does feel nice to have someone in his arms, but it’s still difficult to fall asleep. 

Part of the reason he’d been so hesitant to sleep in the same bed as Louis was because he hadn’t wanted to be disappointed when he still couldn’t sleep. In the beginning, he’d sort of been hoping that maybe Louis was the key he needed to finally be fixed, and when they slept together for the first time Harry would be able to stay asleep the entire night. 

He thinks for what might have been a long time and what might’ve been just a few minutes, he isn’t sure, but his arm falls asleep under his head so he rearranges them, pulling Louis’ head onto his chest and putting his other hand on the bed beside them. 

“Why don’t you sleep?” 

Louis’ voice startles him and he jumps slightly, clearing his throat while he tries to think of something to say. 

“I - uhm, I can’t.” 

Placing a hand flat on Harry’s chest and rolling over to rest his chin on top of it, Harry can see his eyes sparkling from the streetlights outside. 

“You can’t sleep?” He asks. “Ever?” 

It’s completely dark, but Harry still feels more exposed than he ever has in front of Louis. They’ve been so open with each other that this feels like a dirty secret, but it feels like a good a time as any to get it off of his chest. 

“I haven’t been able to sleep properly for two years. My brain just doesn’t shut off, I guess.” 

The words had sounded clear and confident inside of his head, but they come out as a nearly inaudible whisper. He isn’t even sure Louis heard him. 

Everything gets so quiet that he thinks maybe he’s gone back to sleep and hopefully won’t remember any of this in the morning, but Louis sounds very awake when he speaks again, still looking up into his eyes from his chest. 

“You’ve tried everything, I assume?” 

Harry rattles off the list to him, his medications and diets and warm milks and tells him how none of it worked for him, even when it made him so upset he cried. 

The slow back and forth of Louis’ thumb on his arm stops abruptly, and Harry gulps. 

This is it, he thinks. No one wants to be with someone long-term that can’t even sleep properly. Harry’d thought maybe he would’ve gotten to keep him a bit longer, but he’s not going to beg. 

“Alright then,” Louis says, sitting up. 

He reaches over to pull the string on the lamp on his bedside table, sitting up against the headboard and pulling Harry’s head into his lap. 

Careful fingers thread through his hair the minute he gets comfortable, soothing him from his anxiety. 

“You’re not - you don’t think it’s weird?” 

Louis shrugs, the baby blue fabric of another one of Harry’s shirts falling off of his shoulder tastefully. 

“S’not like it’s your fault. Plus, it’s a part of you and, if you haven’t noticed,” he smiles, “I like you quite a lot.” 

Harry can’t help the smile that blooms on his face when Louis leans down to lick his nose playfully, giggling down at him afterward with rosy cheeks. 

Grabbing the wrist that’s in his hair, Harry looks at him seriously. 

“You really don’t have to stay up with me, Louis.” 

In the lamplight, Harry sees him smirk as he flicks his hand off of his wrist and continues rubbing his head with his fingernails. 

“What, like I’ve got something better to do?” 

For a second he tears up, when Louis starts talking to him about his day and his plans for next week, the breakfast place he’d tried the other day and the brand of coffee he wants to try next. 

Harry just nods along even though he’s not really listening. He can’t believe Louis actually doing this for him. Although, if things had been the other way around, he’s sure he would’ve stayed up with Louis if it made him feel better. 

That makes him feel less like he’s depriving him of his own sleep, so he readjusts his head in Louis’ lap to see him better and relaxes completely, listening to the sound of his voice as his face begins to hurt from grinning. 

+

Time moves quickly when they’re together, he’s realized. Everything used to move in slow motion but now it flashes in front of his eyes and gets his attention, makes him want to be alert and attentive. 

And then at night, the days when he sleeps over at Louis’, time moves slowly again, but in a good way. Not like the sluggishness of before, but like it gives Harry time to appreciate him properly, low lighting outlining his curves and edges, soft and hard all at once and wonderful to look at. 

Harry’s in heaven, basically. The only issue is that he knows Louis needs his sleep. The major Harry chose is much less rigorous than Louis’ business, and he feels guilty a lot of the time when Louis returns from morning classes looking exhausted to Harry making them lunch. 

Their nighttime routine is not permanent, but Harry’s too selfish to put a stop to it yet. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells Louis, halfway through their lunch one day. 

“For what?” 

Harry swallows, “For keeping you up at night.” 

Louis slips from his chair across the table and sits himself down in Harry’s lap, pushing their food away. 

He kisses Harry over and over again, playing with the hair on his neck and sighing happily when Harry wraps his arms around him in return. 

“Hazza,” he says, “I love spending time with you, whether it’s during the day or during the night. You’re important enough to me to move some things around.” 

They kiss some more after that and Harry forgets for a little while, but he still thinks about it at night. He’ll let himself have it for now, but later he’ll have to give it up. 

_ For now _ , he decides, drifting off with his head in Louis’ lap to the rerun of Friends in the background. 

\+ 

“And you’re aware of all of the side effects?” 

The doctor in front of him is unsure of Harry’s calmness about the subject. 

There’s a new medication on the market for insomnia and Harry wants to try it, if the doctor would just hand him the prescription. 

“Yes,” he tries to sound convincing, “I’ve read over them and I’ve taken several medications like this in the past.” 

Louis still tells him that it’s no big deal and he doesn’t care, but Harry wants this. He wants it for Louis but, more than that, he wants this for himself. That’d been the realization that had him phoning the nearest sleep clinic and setting up an appointment, spending hours looking for new methods he could try. 

He tries not to get his hopes up too high because he’s been through all of this before and it hadn’t worked. Now, he’s got a newfound sense of hope that resides in his chest, and a gentle nudge every time Louis comes home tired. He’s got no idea Harry’s here, but that’s on purpose. 

That’s because if this doesn’t work out, it will only be his own hopes crushed and not Louis’ as well. He’s also realized, during the night when Louis’ is exhausted but stays awake to talk to Harry, that he’s in love with him. Very much in love with him, to the point where he wants this sleeping thing to be fixed so that Louis will want to be with him for as long as he’ll have him. 

The doctor nods at him again, finally handing over the prescription and sending him out to the receptionist. He makes an appointment for a month out, just in case these don’t work and he wants to try something else, and picks up Louis’ favorite takeout on the way back to the flat to celebrate his optimism. 

\+ 

They’re not working. 

The pills aren’t doing anything for him except making him moody and irritable, so he stops them. He tries more meditation next, practicing when Louis’ in class so he won’t ask why. After a week of that and still nothing, Harry feels as discouraged as he did the first time none of these things worked. He manages to sneak his weighted comforter over without much suspicion. 

Louis catches on when he tries the dieting, though, slimmer meals and nothing before bed except milk or small sips of water. When he asks him about it, Harry breaks down all over again.

“I just want to  _ sleep _ ,” he croaks, hands twisted in the front of Louis’ shirt, “S’all I want, Lou, I just want to be able to sleep.” 

“I know,” he says, stroking Harry’s hair and shushing him. 

His tears land on his own hands and on Louis’ chest as he shakes with quiet sobs, holding Louis to him tightly as he cries. 

“What do I do?” He whispers. 

He lets Louis think for a moment. He doesn’t blame him if he hasn’t got any ideas, because Harry definitely doesn’t. 

“If it’s going to happen, it will on it’s own, H.” He murmurs, “We’ll quit all of the diets and the pills and just try to do things naturally, yeah?” 

When Harry nods against him he adds, “No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here, Harry.” 

Harry laughs once through his sobs, grabbing Louis by both sides of his face and bringing their lips together. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Which wasn’t actually supposed to come out, but - 

“I love you, too,” Louis giggles, hiding his grin in Harry’s neck. 

And he’s still worn out, mind heavy from the turmoil of his failure, but Louis never fails to make him feel better. He rests his forehead against his and exhales, finally letting his eyes fall shut. 

+

Three months later, it happens. 

They’ve both graduated now, and Harry’s moved into Louis’ flat since he’d practically been living there anyway. Louis’ been researching, trying things on Harry he’d found in all different corners of the internet about severe insomnia. Harry loves him more every day. 

He doesn’t even expect it to happen when it does, because it’d been such a good day. They’d gone on a date, sipped wine and eaten expensive dessert before walking around the shops, then headed back home and watched movies. When they’d walked in, he’d checked the time on his phone before turning it off. 

_ 9:30, _ it read. 

Things had gotten heated on the couch, a mess of lips and hands and touching and going farther than they’d ever gone previously. He’d had Louis panting prettily underneath him, and he couldn’t resist. 

They’d ended up in his bed, in  _ their _ bed, where he memorized every part of Louis’ body in the same lamplight they talk under every night, his skin flushed red from the attention. 

Limbs tangled underneath the sheets, Harry had cleaned them up in the bath before crawling back into bed with him. Louis turned off the lamp and Harry fell asleep with Louis’ heartbeat under his ear. 

Harry. Fell.  _ Asleep _ . 

For the entire night, until late afternoon the next day. 

His mouth tastes awful when he wakes, groggily moving a hand around to feel for Louis as he stretches. 

Eyelids fluttering open when he feels him sitting up, Louis has tears in his eyes when he sees him, his silhouette outlined by the window behind him. 

“Wha’s the matter?” Harry sits up frantically, hand cupping Louis’ cheek. 

Louis beams. 

“You -” he sniffs, laughing happily, “you slept the whole night, Haz.” 

Slowly, it clicks inside of his brain. He looks down at the print of the sheets on his skin and the dried drool on his face, the ache in his muscles absent completely. 

“I slept,” he says quietly, glancing at the new clock he’d hung on the wall. 

_ 3:47 _ , it reads. 

“Louis, I slept,” he says louder. 

He grins so hard his cheeks hurt, happy tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Getting up on his knees, he grabs Louis around the waist and picks him up on the bed, kissing all over his face to the sound of his laugh. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he punctuates with kisses. 

Louis pushes back slightly to look him in the eyes, his brows furrowing. 

“For what, H?” 

“S’you,” Harry says, “you cured me.” 

He laughs again but Harry is completely serious. 

“I love you,” he tells him again. 

They fall back onto the sheets unceremoniously, Harry getting elbowed on the way down but not caring one bit. He can’t remember the last time he felt so good. 

“I love you, too,” Louis says, looking at him, breathless, from the other side of the bed. 

He tackles him and kisses him, rolling on top of Louis again. And he means to have a repeat of last night, probably, but instead he falls asleep with his mouth pressed against Louis’ neck, his heartbeat sounding like a lullaby inside of his ears. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> if you like this fic, you can reblog it [here](https://soldouthaz.tumblr.com/post/190116883776/golden-slumbers-fill-your-eyes-ao3-mature-i) :)


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